Ongoing Negotiations
by QuatschKatz
Summary: Because all good relationships take work, right? Sherlock and Molly, living together, navigating the good and bad as they build a relationship. Silly short stories.
1. Laying the Groundwork

**First of all, these characters are the creation of people with more money, talent and inherent British-ness than I could ever hope to have.**

**I tried to avoid too much American-English, but am obviously not British and didn't try very hard. Sorry.**

**This is not really a sequel to my previous story "The Sense of Death," it's the same Sherlock and Molly, but this is just some funny short tales of them attempting to negotiate a relationship. So if you didn't read that story, you can still enjoy this story. (Although, you could go give my other tale a try, you know, if you don't have anything better to do.)**

It was time. They could put it off no longer. Molly was determined to sit Sherlock down and have a serious discussion about their relationship. Upon their return from London Below, Sherlock had shocked her by announcing that he expected her to join him in living at 221B Baker Street. It was a wonderful surprise, but Molly feared that Sherlock hadn't considered how moving in together could complicate their relationship. After three days cooped up at Mycroft's home, Sherlock was overjoyed to return to his beloved flat. John Watson had moved out three months after Sherlock's "death." After revealing his still alive status, and stoically taking the punches John delivered, Sherlock asked John if he intended to return to Baker Street. Sherlock hoped that John would. It would be extremely convenient if his best friend and Molly both lived with him. John was still trying to process the twin shocks of Sherlock being alive and Sherlock being in a relationship with Molly. He stammered out that for now, he planned to stay put.

Much later on, John would confide to Molly that he wanted to stay in his new flat for two reasons. First of all, John thought that Sherlock and Molly would benefit from living together without him. The flat would likely be too cramped with three residents, especially when two of those residents were romantic partners. While John was confused as to the exact nature of their relationship, he had no intention of ever seeing Sherlock and Molly in any sort of intimate embrace. Secondly, John's own romantic life had improved since moving. Away from Sherlock, he was able to properly maintain a relationship. John confessed that Sherlock had ruined many dates.

"Pardon my language, Molly, but the man was some sort of cock-blocking genius. I was lucky to make it to three dates with most women, I was getting desperate. If it wasn't Sherlock interrupting dates, he was insulting them or purposefully losing their messages, you name it, he did it. I've met someone really special, and I intend to give this one a good try, and I don't need Sherlock trying to ruin it for me. Good luck Molly, maybe now that you are with him, he'll finally stop being such a massive pain." With that John, gave her his blessing. He prayed to whatever gods might be that Sherlock didn't fuck this up, Molly was the best thing that could ever have happened to the man.

Molly had been living at Baker Street for a week now. After her disappearance, most of her belongings were placed into storage. Mycroft had had a hunch that she was with his not-dead little brother and had seen to taking care of her things. So far, she had mostly bought new things at Sherlock's insistence. After years of criticizing her clothes, Sherlock was determined to see her in more attractive clothing. That was just one of the things Molly intended to discuss. He had left earlier to deal with some paperwork with Mycroft. Returning from the dead was a bureaucratic nightmare apparently.

Molly knew he would come back in a bad mood, but didn't want to put off their discussion any longer. She thought about what she wanted from their relationship and some rules for the flat. Mrs. Hudson was delighted that Molly was moving in, she hoped that a woman would be able to stop Sherlock from shooting the walls. She had shared some of Sherlock's past bad habits with Molly in hopes that she would put a stop to them. Molly had assured her new landlady that she would do her best.

Molly had written down a few key points on a notepad Mrs. Hudson had given her. It was pale pink and had a pair of kittens on the lower left corner. She chewed on the end of her pen while she thought. The downstairs door slammed and Molly could hear footsteps running up the stairs. Sherlock was home. He burst into the sitting room, coat and curls flying. He was slightly flushed with the cold and annoyance at having to deal with his brother. He brightened up when he saw Molly. He was hoping to dispel the last of his irritation by engaging in relaxing activities with Molly. Preferably naked activities. It had been far too long since he had last been able to properly enjoy spending time with Molly. He stopped short when he noticed the slightly worried look on her face and notepad clutched in her hands. She looked serious, which made him concerned about his plans for recreation. He swooped over to her and knelt in front of her. He gave her his most charming smile as he kissed her softly.

"Molly, you look lovely, I have a marvelous idea, join me in the bedroom, please?" he asked, swooping in for another kiss.

Molly squirmed, clearly enjoying his kisses, but conflicted. She rested a hand on his chest and took a deep breath. "Sherlock, wait, we need to talk first."

Sherlock grew more alarmed. His experience with women was nearly negligible, but even he knew it was a bad sign when a woman insisted on having a talk. He quickly reviewed the past few days, had he done something thoughtless?

Molly tried to smile. "Um, I just wanted to talk about our relationship, and discuss some boundaries, um guidelines really, about what we both want, especially now that we are living together. I thought it would be a good idea" she said in a rush.

"Guidelines?" Sherlock was starting to really worry. He had never been very good at rules. His earliest teachers had been astounded by his intelligence. At first, they were excited to have such a bright student. The excitement soon diminished when they realized that he was too damn intelligent for his own good. He refused to obey their rules and frequently challenged their authority. Sherlock was starting to have unpleasant memories of angry teachers. This talk of rules was making him uncomfortable. He and rules had been adversaries his whole life. He decided to resume kissing Molly till she saw the wisdom in his earlier suggestion.

"We can talk about guidelines later, I want to kiss you now Molly" he murmured as he kissed her neck. He knew that was a sensitive spot, he hoped she wouldn't be able to resist.

Molly knew exactly what he was trying to do. She nearly whimpered in frustration. They needed to talk; she grabbed his face and made him look at her. "Sherlock, we can do that later, I am serious. I think it's very important that we talk. Please?" Molly was not above using her own weapons. She pursed her lips and looked slightly sad. She knew Sherlock would be helpless to resist her sad doe eyes.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and huffed out an irritated breath. He sat back in his armchair and tapped his fingers impatiently. Molly smiled encouragingly at him. She looked at her notepad for courage. "Okay, well, for example, I know you don't particularly like being affectionate in public, maybe you could tell me what is and isn't okay. If we both know what the other wants, we won't have to worry about misunderstandings" she said brightly.

Molly's attempts at looking cheerful were not helping Sherlock feel any less nervous. He could see far too many ways this discussion could go horribly awry and end with hurt feelings, and worse, no delightful sexual activities in his near future. Despite feeling like he was walking into a trap, he decided to go ahead. He furrowed his brow as he thought. Something quickly came to mind. He took a deep breath. "Molly, I would prefer to not be called your boyfriend." Her face fell, and he tried to hurry up and repair the damage. "It's the term I object to, it sounds much too juvenile" he explained. Molly still looked stricken. He jumped to his feet and started pacing. "We both know that we love each other and are important to each other. I fail to see how defining our relationship with such a childish word is beneficial." He looked back at Molly, she was starting to relax. Clearly expressing that they loved each other calmed her. He made a note to remember this for the future.

"Okay, I think I understand what you mean, um, what should we call each other then? Partner? I don't really like that either, too cold" said Molly. She frowned as she tried to think of a better phrase.

"I propose we call each other Sherlock and Molly, as those are our given names. If people have questions about the nature of our relationship they will just have to ask." Sherlock thought this was a perfect solution. Molly wasn't convinced, but decided it wasn't worth worrying about now. Better to continue the discussion.

Sherlock quickly thought of something else that he had observed other couples doing. "Also, I find pet names very annoying. I would rather not be called by some silly term of endearment" he stated.

Molly bit her lip; that would be a difficult one. Granted, Sherlock wasn't the sort of person you called "sweetie" anyway, but Molly knew it would be hard for her not to show some affection. Sherlock realized she was concerned. "Perhaps we can try to limit such phrases to times when we are alone" he offered as a compromise. Molly nodded and smiled. This little talk was going pretty well, she decided to jump in with her own suggestions.

"See, this is good! Um, well I have already told you most of what I want before. Most importantly, I would like it if you could tell me what you want; I can't always deduce that you'd like to be left alone by the way you're wearing your scarf" she said.

Sherlock had an urge to inform her that if she would just observe, things like that would be obvious. He knew before he opened his mouth that such a statement would upset her, so he kept it to himself. He was very proud of himself as he nodded in assent. Molly felt even bolder.

"And about living together, no shooting weapons in the house" she said quickly before she lost her nerve.

Sherlock frowned and folded his arms over his chest. "Mrs. Hudson made you say that" he groused.

"Um well, she did mention it, but I already was going to say something when I realized those were bullet holes. Couldn't you go to a shooting range?" Sherlock did not look pleased at this suggestion. Molly had another thought. Sherlock loved to show off. "Maybe we could go together and you could teach me?" she asked.

Sherlock was startled by this idea. At first it struck him as bizarre, but then the notion began to have some appeal. He rather liked the thought of Molly cooing over his shooting skills. Better yet, she wouldn't know that John was a much better shot, and he had no intention of telling her. Molly watched as he thought over the idea. She could tell he was considering it.

"Fine. I will refrain from firing weapons in the house unless lives are in danger." He remembered another of Mrs. Hudson's common complaints. "But the skull is staying on the mantel" he announced firmly.

"Oh, that's fine. Honestly Sherlock, you do realize that I am one of the few women who wouldn't mind a human skull in the living room" teased Molly.

"Yes, well Mrs. Hudson has had a nasty habit of hiding him from me in the past. I've had him for some time and I do not wish to be parted" explained Sherlock.

"Her."

"What?"

"Your skull, it's a woman's" said Molly.

"It is not" shot back Sherlock.

Molly put her hands on her hips. "Sherlock, I picked it up and looked it over, of course I can't be totally certain without other evidence, but I'm pretty sure it's a female."

Sherlock gasped, and his eyes grew wide with alarm. "You touched my skull?" he asked, horrified.

Molly shrank back a little. "Um, yes. I'm sorry, I didn't know…" Shit. Things had been going so well, and now, to get tripped up over something so stupid. She squared her shoulders and looked straight at him. "See, this is the sort of thing I am talking about. I need to know what is off limits, we can avoid a lot of arguing then" she explained. Inside she was cringing. Sherlock still looked shocked.

"It's alright, it's just, no one touches my skull. Unless they are trying to take it," muttered Sherlock. He was a little embarrassed at how emotional he got over his skull at times. It had been his only companion for many years, his only confidant during many lonely school terms. His schoolmates had often threatened the skull. Now he felt extremely silly and wanted to sink into the floor. Why did Molly insist on this awful talk? His plan for the afternoon was much nicer for everyone involved.

Molly crept up next to him and hugged him. She looked up at him with her big brown eyes. "I promise I will never touch your skull again, and I will defend her from all who would assail her virtue" she said with a small smile.

Sherlock kissed her forehead and stroked her hair. He bent his head so he could whisper in her ear. "It's alright Molly, you can touch my skull" he said solemnly.

"Thank you" whispered Molly. She bit her lower lip to keep from giggling. She felt like Sherlock had just given her a very rare privilege. Somehow, this felt almost as important as when he had first told her he loved her. She nearly laughed aloud as she thought about that. Being in a relationship with Sherlock Holmes was definitely going to be very different from most.

Sherlock was hoping that Molly was finished with this whole "talk" of hers. He ran his fingers over her shirt, tugging at the hem in hopes of pulling it over her head. He kissed her more forcefully in case she still didn't understand his plan. She wasn't properly kissing back. In fact she was trying not to laugh. He leaned back and looked at her with concern. He was growing desperate. "Molly, can we cease this discussion? I can think of many better ways to spend this time, each one offering many lovely ways to use our mouths without speaking. Come join me in bed, please" he begged.

It was hopeless. He was using the puppy dog eyes. Besides, the feel of his fingers running up and down her side was making it hard for Molly to concentrate on her carefully written list. She allowed Sherlock to pull her away from the armchairs and towards his bedroom. Sherlock hummed in happiness as his plan finally succeeded. He and Molly fell on the bed, arms going every which way, tugging off clothing. He paused when he got to her knickers. They were black with pink lace trim. There was a small pink cat outlined on the left hip. Where on earth had she gotten them? He thought back to the notepad she had been holding and the blog she used to have. She had an alarming fondness for cats. Molly was staring at him, clearly wondering why he had stopped. Well, the whole discussion had been her idea in the first place. He cleared his throat. "Molly, before we get properly started, I have thought of one other rule. Stop embellishing all your belongings with cats."

Molly raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?" she asked.

Sherlock realized he had made an error and hastily tried to fix it by kissing her. She wiggled free and crossed her arms across her chest. Damn. He needed to fix this fast. "You're a beautiful adult woman Molly, all of these cats encrusting everything is silly." Now she was sliding further away from him, obviously not in the mood to return to their previous activities. Sherlock swore to himself. He really needed to work harder at understanding women. He tried one last attempt. "Never mind. Forget I said anything. I love you" he said in a rush. He smiled at her hopefully. He was desperate to touch her. He reached out a tentative hand toward her hip.

Molly tried to keep looking stern but failed. She burst out laughing and grabbed his hand. She leapt back towards him, tackling him and somehow ending up straddling his hips. Sherlock stared up at her in shock while she laughed wickedly at him. "No more talking. Discussion time is over" she ordered. Sherlock grinned and tried to reach up and remove her bra. She grabbed both his hands and pinned them over his head. She leaned a little closer, a naughty gleam in her eye. "But you know, Mrs. Hudson and I were talking. She wants to replace the wallpaper you shot up. Men will be here next week to put it up. We already picked out the most darling pattern. It's got lots of kittens and balloons and happy clowns!" she smirked. She was doing something incredibly stimulating with her hips while keeping him pinned to the mattress. Sherlock groaned and nearly begged for mercy.

She was staring at him with a triumphant look on her face. "Fine! I surrender! You can have all the cats you want! All of them!" gasped Sherlock. Molly just laughed, wrinkling her nose in an excessively adorable manner. She released Sherlock's wrists and resumed kissing him fiercely. Sherlock responded with equal enthusiasm. He deftly removed her bra and rolled her over. She giggled as he finally was able to carry out his earlier plan.

Sometime later, Sherlock was nestled close to Molly who was stroking his hair. She kissed the back of his neck and whispered, "You know, I was just teasing about the wallpaper."

He sniffed. "Obviously."

_Sherlock and Molly's Rules_

_1. Tell each other how you feel, if you need space, ask for it._

_2. Don't use the phrases "boyfriend" or "girlfriend," too juvenile._

_3. Avoid public displays of affection and silly pet names._

_4. No shooting weapons in the flat unless lives are in danger._

_5. The skull stays on the mantel._

_6. Avoid clothing/other belongings with silly cat images._


	2. Never in the Morgue

Even before they had begun their romantic relationship, Molly realized Sherlock was a bit weird about food. She had watched him go for hours, sustained by only the coffee she brought him. After living with him, she realized that food was only the tip of the iceberg. When he was working, he often ignored the needs of his body, food, sleep, all were meaningless. She suspected that if he thought stopping breathing would make his brain worked faster, he'd try that too. Apparently, the work also eliminated any sexual appetites as well. Molly found this out not long after their return. In the weeks following his resurrection, Sherlock had been inundated with pleas for help. Most of them were too boring to consider, desperate attempts by people just interested in fame. But some were interesting or important enough for Sherlock's attention.

Sherlock was frequently absent from Baker Street. Molly had quickly been reinstated at St. Bart's and was glad to be back at work. If it hadn't been for the morgue, Molly suspected that she would never have seen Sherlock. He appeared every once and a while, like a summer storm, all noise and fury while he was there and then gone in a flash. It got so bad, that Molly missed seeing Sherlock. A little alone time every now and then was nice, but she was starting to feel like she lived in 221B by herself. She tried to talk to Sherlock about it one of the times he came rushing through the morgue.

"Sherlock, wait, please" she asked. He had been about to dash back out the doors again, but stopped and turned. He looked at her expectantly.

"Um, you 've been so busy, I was just wondering …" she paused and wrung her hands as she tried to choose her words carefully.

"Hurry up Molly" barked Sherlock.

Her mouth dropped open. She snapped it shut in a frown and spun back to walk away.

"Wait! I'm sorry, Molly!" called Sherlock after her. She stopped, her shoulders slumped. He could tell she was close to tears. She turned back to face him.

"I just wanted to say, I miss you. I worry about you when you don't come home for days," she whispered.

Sherlock strode over and quickly hugged her. "I'm sorry," he murmured into her hair. "I am trying, I really am. Can we talk more when this case is done? It shouldn't be much longer."

Molly nodded. Sherlock pressed a quick kiss to her forehead and hurried out the door. Molly sighed as he left. Clearly they needed to add to their list of rules. She finished out her work day and trudged home. It was dark and cold, spring was still weeks away. Molly crept upstairs quietly, she loved Mrs. Hudson, but wasn't in the mood to stop and chat. She took a long hot shower, washing away the smell of death that always followed her home. Now clean, she dug through the drawers till she found her favorite pink pajamas. They were soft and warm, the bottoms getting raggedy from years of wear. She looked under the bed and found the romance novel she had been reading. Sherlock had mocked it endlessly, but he wasn't around, now was he?

Molly fixed some tea and curled up on the sofa with her book. She was close to the end, the star crossed lovers about to live happily ever after. As the night wore on, she wrapped up the tale, satisfied by the romantic ending. She yawned and lay down, snuggling under the blanket. Several hours later, she was awoken by a very alert Sherlock.

He was stroking her hair and kissing her neck enthusiastically. Molly tried very hard to match Sherlock's enthusiasm, but was still mostly asleep.

"Sherlock, what has gotten into you?" she mumbled.

"Case finished, missed you, want sex now," was Sherlock's reply. His mouth was attached to her neck.

Molly tried to sit up, unable to stop yawning. "Mmm alright then, just give me a moment to wake up." She stretched her arms and stood. She started walking toward the kitchen to put her mug in the sink. Sherlock followed closely behind. While she put some things away, Sherlock started grabbing things out of the various cupboards. He stuffed several biscuits into his mouth before pouring a large glass of milk. Molly watched as he gobbled down a few more biscuits washed down with milk.

"Hungry are we?" she teased.

Sherlock shrugged, his mouth still full of food. He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his coat, and then tossed his coat aside. He strode across the kitchen and resumed his attack on Molly. He tasted like chocolate and milk. Molly wrapped her legs around his waist as he picked her up and carried her from the room.

For years, Sherlock had avoided sex, at all costs. He was certain that it was a tedious activity that would only dull his mind. After his time spent with Molly in London Below, he realized he had never been so wrong. Truly, he always missed something. Sex was delightful. He suspected that he mainly enjoyed it because of Molly. She was patient and kind and made him feel safe. Sex with someone else probably wouldn't be as nice, he felt. He didn't particularly want to test this theory though. In the afterglow of this latest round of sex, he reveled in the burst of clarity that often accompanied his post-orgasmic relaxation. Far too often, his mind felt like an engine going at top speed, about to fly to pieces. In the moments after sex, his mind often cleared, allowing him to feel at peace. Case done, appetites sated, he drifted into a deep sleep.

The next morning, Molly woke up first. She watched Sherlock sleep for a few minutes. His mouth was slightly open as he lay on his side. She brushed his hair back and smiled to herself. As she got out of bed, she was a little surprised he still didn't wake up. Although, she couldn't remember when he had last slept, so he was definitely due for a long slumber. She made herself a light breakfast and settled down with the newspaper. Sherlock was still asleep when she started getting ready for work. As she finished her shower, she heard him yawning. When she stepped in the bedroom, wrapped in a towel, he was sitting up in bed, curls delightfully askew. He looked so adorable and sleepy, Molly had to climb on the bed and give him a quick kiss. Sherlock grabbed her and kissed her passionately. He thought late morning sex sounded like a brilliant idea. Unfortunately, Molly obviously did not agree. She twisted away from him and swatted his arm.

"Sherlock!" she scolded as she finished toweling herself off, "I've got to go to work!"

"Work is boring, Molly," he whined. "Stay here with me."

She sighed. "Sherlock, I'm sorry, but my work schedule does not include allowances for when you've finished a case."

His eyes narrowed and his mouth twisted into a scowl. "What is that supposed to mean?" he asked petulantly.

"It's just, um, I mean..." She stumbled over her words, momentarily losing her nerve. "I have to follow my work schedule. And I know that your work doesn't follow any sort of schedule. And I have to deal with that, sometimes you're busy when I am off and want to spend time with you. And you will have to deal with it when I have to work and you aren't busy," she explained.

Sherlock felt like she had slapped him. He wasn't sure why her words hurt, and that alarmed him even more. He flopped over onto his side, pulling the covers back over his head. Molly felt like crying. How had a pleasant morning gone so suddenly wrong? She bit her lip, wondering if she should try and say something. She didn't feel like apologizing, so she left the room. A glance at the clock told her she was running late. She hurried up to grab her purse and then dashed out of the flat.

Sherlock stewed and sulked from the late morning until the early afternoon. Molly had been desperate for his attention for years, and now she had it. So why had she run off? He had pouted under the covers for some time. Lying in bed got boring, so he moved to the living room. His violin practically called to him, offering a kind of peace in music. Still in his pajamas, he began to play. It seemed like just minutes had passed when he was interrupted by his friend John. He blinked in surprise as John tapped his shoulder.

"What are you doing here? Go away," Sherlock snapped.

John rolled his eyes. "Greg's been calling you for three hours." Sherlock looked at him in confusion. "Greg Lestrade, remember? Anyway, it's something big. He's desperate and begged me to come find you." John held his phone out to Sherlock. There was a string of texts displayed. Sherlock took it, quickly scanning the flurry of texts. Several words jumped out at him, primarily "murder" "cult" and "aliens." It looked promising, at least a six, maybe a seven or better. He tossed the phone back toward John and ran to get dressed.

In the morgue of St. Bart's, very little work was getting done. Molly was completely distracted by that morning's fight with Sherlock. It irritated her when he didn't seem to take her job seriously. She knew he valued her work highly, even before they had begun a romantic relationship, she was the only pathologist he would work with. But sometimes, it was almost like he forgot she didn't work just for him. Molly took her job very seriously. It was her duty to find answers for the deceased and their families. She had worked hard to earn her position and she was determined to always do the best work she could. Of course she wanted to spend time with Sherlock. In a perfect world, they could spend all their days lounging in bed. But she had accepted that when he was working, quality together time, especially sex, came a distant second. He would have to do the same. She frowned as she tried to stiffen her resolve.

Sherlock stormed through the offices of Scotland Yard, John rushing after. Curious officers peeked out from behind their cubicles at the man who had returned from the dead. Sally Donovan sighed as she saw him approach. After his return, they had mostly settled their squabbling, but she knew the look on his face too well. It was the look of a man who relished making her life difficult. She opened the door to DI Lestrade's office and walked in to wait for the fireworks.

It was definitely a weird case, another string of seemingly related suicides. All of the deceased had recently been reading about a strange cult, though none of them were interested in joining. Friends and family all agreed that the victims seemed unlikely to commit suicide. And none of the victims knew each other. Sherlock only insulted the police force once before he agreed to take the case. He left to examine one of the victim's homes, the long suffering John Watson following close behind.

Molly was exhausted, it had been another long day, and she was still upset about how the morning had gone. She hoped Sherlock would be home, so they could talk about it. Unfortunately he was long gone. She looked over the flat, but didn't see any notes. He hadn't called either. She cooked a quick meal of pasta, hoping Sherlock would still be hungry when he came home. Hours later, she gave up and put it away for lunch tomorrow. She went to bed hoping Sherlock would join her there before the night was through.

The next morning, Molly awoke alone. A quick walk through the flat showed that Sherlock hadn't been there. He tended to leave a mess in his wake when he returned. Now Molly was starting to get worried. She didn't want to be a nag though, so she got ready for work without trying to call him. She resisted the urge to call Sherlock through the whole morning and lunch. She lost the fight when she ran into John in the cafeteria.

"Hey, have you seen Sherlock?" she asked, trying unsuccessfully to hide her desperation.

John frowned. "He was looking into something for Greg; we were dashing all across the city yesterday evening. When I left, he was muttering about train schedules. Come to think of it, I'm not sure he noticed that I left." John shrugged and volunteered to call Sherlock, but Molly said she would do it herself.

By midafternoon, Sherlock was somewhere in Wales, hot on the trail. He had recently realized that John must have left some time ago. This was annoying, because someone was currently shooting at him, and he was hunkered down behind a large rock with no firearm. Adding to his irritation, his phone was currently ringing. Who on earth was calling him? Everyone knew that he preferred to text. He glanced at the screen of his phone. It was Molly. He huffed and answered the call.

"What!" he barked.

The connection was bad, he barely had any reception. He could just make out what Molly was saying. "Sherlock, where are you?" she asked. Another shot rang out, knocking another chip of the boulder he was hiding behind. "What was that!" she yelled.

"Given the sound of the shot and the size of the chunk taken out of this piece of granite, I'd say a .32 rifle," he answered.

"WHAT! Sherlock! Where are you?" cried Molly.

He huffed impatiently. "Last I checked, Wales. Is there something you need Molly?" he asked.

He was mostly answered by static, with some intermittent sobs. "Hello?" he yelled. He shouted a few more times, but received no answer. He frowned at the phone, the call finally was lost. With a shrug, he resumed his focus on the situation at hand.

Molly gulped down her last sobs, both terrified and furious. She wrapped her arms around herself as she tried to think what to do. Sherlock was in danger and if he survived, she might kill him herself. As she pondered what to do, her phone rang. There was a series of incomprehensible symbols on the display. She hiccupped once before answering.

"Hello?"

"Dr. Hooper, this is Mycroft Holmes. Please know I am aware of my brother's current situation and have sent help. I'm certain he'll be home soon. If you would, please remind him to call Mummy."

Before Molly could even formulate a response, Mycroft had hung up. She stared at her phone, and then scanned the walls, wondering where on earth his cameras were hidden. The rest of her shift was spent obsessing over if Sherlock was safe and what embarrassing things his brother had seen her do.

Sherlock was bundled into a helicopter, where he was extremely unhappy. He loathed being rescued by Mycroft's anonymous minions. He especially hated it when he knew that he really had needed the help. Nothing rankled like requiring big brother's assistance. Equally frustrating was the difficulty he was having with the case. Too many things didn't make sense. Why had the librarian disappeared? And why had she stolen all those books? And what did it have to do with the suicides? He sulked the entire flight, forgetting the fact that Molly was sure to be angry with him. As he neared London, a novel idea occurred to him. Sex had a certain way of calming his mind. Perhaps if he spent some time with Molly, things would become clearer.

Molly had been holed up in her office for several hours. She had wasted so much of the day worrying that she was far behind on her work. The thought of returning home to an empty flat also held no appeal, so she had forced herself to focus on some paperwork. Her neck ached from stress. She wanted to finish up one last thing before she left. A quick read through showed everything was filled out properly, so she signed the report and stuffed it in an envelope. As she stood and turned, Sherlock threw open her office door, startling her.

Molly jumped, letting out a soft cry of surprise. Seeing Sherlock reignited her anger, but just as she prepared to properly yell at him, he pounced. He took advantage of her open-mouthed surprise and kissed her fiercely. Then he kicked her office door shut and tried to walk Molly backward towards her desk. Sherlock had some interesting ideas about how to better use her office furniture and was eager to try them out. He had just managed to locate the zipper of her trousers when his plans came to a screeching halt. Molly shoved him away. She glared at him with such anger that he actually became frightened.

"Molly? Is something wrong?" he asked tentatively.

Her eyes opened wide and her mouth dropped open in shock. "Something wrong? Is something wrong? Yes! I'm in love with a massive bastard who shouts at me because I want to be sure he's still alive!" Molly started sobbing anew, remembering the sound of rifle shots over the phone. She turned away from Sherlock to find some tissues.

Sherlock tried to reach out for her, resting a hand on her shoulder. She swatted it away. Still facing away from him, she cried, "Just go away, please. Leave me alone."

It was as though he had been stabbed with an icy needle. He staggered backwards as the full extent of Molly's anger became clear. He had done something terribly wrong. He gulped and whispered, "I'm sorry," before leaving her office.

Molly sat down and had another good cry. When she was finished, she washed her face as best she could and packed her things to go home. The wind had picked up. Trash and leaves swirled past her as she left St. Bart's. Standing on the pavement at the corner was Sherlock. He looked at her solemnly. "Please Molly, let me get you a cab," he said. She nodded, too tired to argue any more. Cabs always seemed to magically appear when Sherlock needed them. One pulled up to the curb shortly after he had spoken. He pressed a few pound notes into her hand. With downcast eyes, he said, "Take these, and go where ever you want, I understand." He looked up at her face, before leaning down to softly kiss her cheek. "I'm sorry Molly." He opened the door to the cab for her. Molly slid inside and started to slide across the seat. Sherlock began to close the door.

"Wait." She held her hand out to Sherlock. "I want you to come with me, please." He nodded and took her hand, smiling slightly as he entered the cab. Molly asked the driver to take them to Baker Street. She looked out the window during the drive, too angry to look at Sherlock. But she still held Sherlock's hand.

Back home, Sherlock followed Molly through the flat silently. He was waiting. Molly curled up on the sofa and closed her eyes. Sherlock looked at her for a moment, seeing the tiredness and stress in her features. He slipped into the kitchen and set about making some tea. He placed everything on a tray and carried it to Molly. She watched him fix her tea and then his own. Molly sighed and reached out a hand, taking the mug and drinking the tea slowly. When she finished, she sighed again before looking at Sherlock sadly.

"I know you're sorry, what I need to know now is if you understand why I wanted to throttle you," she whispered as she clutched her empty mug.

Sherlock quirked a small smile. He looked up from beneath his long lashes. "I'm aware that my inconsiderate shouting may have had something to do with it." His face grew serious as he continued, "I'm sorry for being so rude on the phone." He looked down at his hands. "I know you were worried about me."

Molly reached over to rub his arm. "I know you don't like being bothered when you're working. But I can't wait multiple days to know you're alive. Can we compromise? At least one call or text a day? Just so I know you're alright?"

He nodded solemnly. "And if it has been longer than twenty four hours since you have heard from me, then I want you to call and remind me of my promise."

Molly smiled and finally slid close enough to hug him. He hummed in happiness as she curled up next to him. He pulled her hair gently from her ponytail and ran his fingers through her loose hair. Molly thought of one more nagging question. "Why on earth were you practically attacking me in my office? I hope you didn't think I was going to have sex with you right then and there."

She looked up; the tell-tale blush was creeping up Sherlock's neck. Horrified, she sat up. "Sherlock! Under no circumstances will I ever have sex in the morgue!"

He pouted, "Never?"

"Absolutely not, in fact, new rule. No sex in the morgue." She thought for a moment. "Or any where else in public."

Now he looked quite put out. "But Molly, what if it's for a case?"

"What sort of case would possibly require the two of us to have sex in a morgue?" she asked.

He heaved a dramatic sigh. "Obviously, it's unlikely that a specific case would require reenacting sexual acts in the morgue." The blush had nearly spread to his ears. He ducked his head down and mostly mumbled into his chest, "It's just sometimes I think better after engaging in a satisfying bout of intercourse with you."

Molly smirked as she listened to him. "Hmm. Well now that we have had another important discussion about our relationship and amended our rules, perhaps I can help you with your problem."

His face brightened as he listened to her suggestion. He followed her eagerly as she stood and walked to the kitchen. She spun back to face him. "But first, I am starving." He sighed as she fussed about the kitchen, reheating some food. Molly took her time eating, relishing the annoyed look on Sherlock's face. She even coerced him into eating a little, reasoning that he needed to keep up his strength if he wanted to enjoy a decent round of love-making. He fussed and moaned, but ate half a sandwich. Molly started slowly removing her layers of clothing as he wiped the crumbs from his lips. He followed her, entranced, as she sauntered toward the bedroom.

After an extremely satisfying bout of sex, Molly was ready to sleep. She was exhausted in the most delightful way. She thought Sherlock was as well, till suddenly, he had an epiphany.

"The librarian was the wife of the cult leader!" he shouted, leaping naked from their bed.

Molly rolled over and groaned into the pillows. Sherlock continued to shout as he dashed about gathering his clothes. A sudden crash made Molly roll back over onto her back. She managed to catch a glimpse of Sherlock's back going through the door. She looked around to see what had broken. She may not have been Sherlock Holmes, but even she could see that the man she loved had just bashed his foot off his dresser as he attempted to redress himself. She giggled a little to herself. Sherlock hopped back through the door, attempting to put on a shoe and walk at the same time. He flopped on the bed and kissed her.

"Case should be finished soon, sleep now, will want more sex later," he whispered.

Before she could properly respond, he had run back out the door again. She listened as the door to their flat slammed shut. His pounding footsteps ran downstairs and out through the front door. Molly curled up on her side and quickly fell asleep.

_Sherlock and Molly's Rules_

_1. Tell each other how you feel, if you need space, ask for it._

_2. Don't use the phrases "boyfriend" or "girlfriend," too juvenile._

_3. Avoid public displays of affection and silly pet names._

_4. No shooting weapons in the flat unless lives are in danger._

_5. The skull stays on the mantel._

_6. Avoid clothing/other belongings with silly cat images._

_7. When out on a case, call or text at least once a day. If Sherlock fails to call/text, Molly can call and remind him._

_8. No sex in public places, especially the morgue._

* * *

**In the interest of full disclosure, my husband and I have our own list of "rules." One of which is, "don't even think about asking me to have any kind of sex on any kind of airplane." There are also some about what to do in the event of zombie apocalypse, i.e. "If I'm a zombie, just shoot me, don't bothering being guilty." and "If you can escape, but I am hopelessly trapped, it's okay to save yourself." I should probably stop watching/reading anything zombie related. **


	3. The Intestine Incident

July had brought something of a heat wave to London. It was much hotter than normal, and tempers were flaring up all across the city. Sherlock had been very busy at first with a string of crimes provoked by the steamy weather. Of course, these crimes of passion were far too boring and Sherlock quickly grew tired of them. As the heat wave entered its second week, the brief burst of crime subsided as people became too worn out to bother. Now Sherlock was doubly irritated, he couldn't decide what was worse, dull unimaginative crimes or a lack of crime altogether. It was also getting too hot to lay on the couch and sulk. Sherlock was getting antsy. Molly had seen the danger signs as she slipped out the door in the morning. She prayed he found something worthy of his interest.

One of the small perks of working in a morgue was that it stayed pleasantly cool year round. Molly had been working longer than normal, even coming in early, just to avoid the heat. She was also avoiding Sherlock's bad mood. His temper had increased along with the temperature. There were also a lot of bodies coming in, people who had succumbed to the excessive heat. Molly was extremely busy filling out paperwork when she heard the familiar slam of the door. She tried not to sigh as Sherlock rapidly advanced toward her. He wore a suit, and Molly knew it had to be smothering him. For a man who swore not to care what others thought, he was an absolute slave to style. More troubling was the near frantic gleam in his eye. Clearly he had thought of something to amuse himself with.

"Intestines. I need as many as you have available," he announced.

"And a good afternoon to you too," sighed Molly.

Sherlock glared at her. "Molly, I've already explained. I am always pleased to see you, mindless greetings are a waste of time," he complained.

Molly nearly had to bite her tongue to keep from starting to get into an old argument. She took a deep breath and replied, "Sherlock, I don't just keep various organs around. This isn't a butcher shop."

Sherlock sniffed and rifled through a stack of papers on her desk. "You've done two autopsies already today. No one will notice if the dearly departed are missing some of their digestive systems."

"No! We've already discussed this! I am not going to steal body parts for you!" shouted Molly.

Sherlock snorted and flipped over more papers, scattering them across her desk and completely ruining the precise order Molly had just put them in. He glanced at one and stabbed a finger at a certain line. "Here! This toxicology screen! You can fetch me the stomach contents, and that will be an acceptable alternative." He grinned as though he had truly found a brilliant compromise.

It was the last straw. Molly exploded. "NO! First of all, no body parts! And do not ever again order me to fetch anything in my damn morgue!" Her arms flailed as she shouted at Sherlock. The grimace on his face grew as he listened to her words. Without replying, he spun around and left.

Molly slumped into a chair, exhausted by the confrontation. Loving Sherlock was never easy. She stopped to take a break and get something cold to drink.

After a quick snack, Molly was ready to get back to work. She started with reorganizing the paperwork Sherlock had disturbed. Brilliant as the man was, he refused to accept that paperwork was a fact of life, at least for the mere mortals like Molly. Sherlock had been blessed with the ability to not care about authority figures. He had always left such nonsense for others. Molly had a healthy respect for paperwork and completing it promptly. She had tried her best to get Sherlock to understand that the rest of the world didn't share his remarkable memory. Everyone else had to rely on paperwork to remember the mundane details of life. She was unsuccessful at convincing him. Sometimes she wondered if Sherlock didn't just like being difficult.

After sorting out the piles of paper, she checked on some other work and took a lengthy lunch break with Mike Stamford. He was one of the rare few individuals that Sherlock tolerated and who also seemed to like Sherlock. On days when John was working at the hospital, sometimes Molly and Mike would join him for meals. Molly was finishing up when John came striding into the cafeteria. He had a look on his face that plainly indicated to Molly that something Sherlock related had happened, something not good. She sighed as she went to speak to him.

"Hey Molly, it's Mrs. Hudson, she called looking for you," began John.

"Oh, I left my phone in my desk, damn, he wasn't shooting the walls was he?" she asked.

"Not this time, I think. Mrs. Hudson wasn't making a lot of sense on the phone. He locked her out, so she wasn't really sure what he was up to, just that something smelled terrible. I tried calling him, but he's not answering. I did get a text telling me to 'mind my own business' a few minutes ago though." John rubbed the back of his neck. "Anyway, I'm still on shift for another couple of hours and Mrs. Hudson was asking for you, Molly. Good luck." With that, he turned and left.

Molly could feel a headache coming on. Far too often had she been forced to play referee in the battle of Sherlock's experiments versus Mrs. Hudson's property. She waved good bye to Mike, who seemed to be enjoying witnessing another of Sherlock's many charming moments. Molly thought maybe she should send Sherlock to live with Mike for a week, see how amusing he found it then. When she got back to the morgue, she fished her phone out of a desk drawer. She dialed Mrs. Hudson while she tidied up her desk.

"Hello, Mrs. Hudson, I've just spoken with John. What's he up to now?" asked Molly.

"Oh Molly, I'm so sorry, it's just there is the worst smell coming from upstairs, and he's turned the stereo on so loud!" cried a distraught Mrs. Hudson.

Molly sighed and rubbed her forehead. "Okay, anything else? Did he bring anything home?"

"Well, he did come rushing back several hours ago with some large bundles, I tried to say hello, but he just dashed past me" explained Mrs. Hudson.

"My shift is over in two hours, do you think everything will be okay till then?" asked Molly.

"I suppose, I'll call if anything else happens," answered Mrs. Hudson.

Molly said her good-byes and attempted to return to work. It was hard to concentrate when she knew that Sherlock was actively up to no good. He had to be conducting another of his awful experiments. They had been battling over the experiments since Molly moved into 221B. John had told her horror stories like finding a whole head in the fridge once. (Molly neglected to mention to John that she had given him that head, a desperate and failed attempt at flirting, Sherlock style.) Sherlock viewed the kitchen as his own personal laboratory. John had dealt with this by ordering lots of take-out. Molly liked to cook every now and then and did not wish to be reminded of work when she prepared food. Slowly, she had been trying to reclaim the kitchen. She had managed to get off to a good start with a strict "Food Only" shelf. Now she had several shelves free from experiments and most of the cookware also declared off limits to experiments. But obviously, the heat had snapped something in Sherlock, making him forget those promises.

It was late when Molly finally left. She had dragged her feet a bit at the end. She felt bad for Mrs. Hudson, but did not relish the upcoming fight. The air was hot and still as she left the hospital. After a crowded Tube ride, she made it to Baker Street. She paused outside the door, looking up at the windows. Sherlock had drawn the curtains and closed the windows. She could hear extremely loud classical music blaring as well. Mrs. Turner would probably be round again to discuss the noise. Molly took a deep breath as she opened the door.

She nearly fell back out the door as the smell hit her nose. It was truly terrible, which said a lot, given the smells she dealt with in the morgue. Anger surged through her. It was hot; she was tired and sticky and did not want to come home to such a stench. She ran up the stairs, unlocked the door to the flat and threw open the door. Once again, she was nearly bowled over by the smell. But in truth, the sight she was met with was almost worse. The entire flat was covered in guts. Honest to god, actual intestines, strung across every surface like Hannibal Lecter's Christmas lights. Molly screamed.

Sherlock popped his head out of the kitchen as Molly began to wail. He opened his mouth to speak, but Molly kept screaming. When she didn't stop, he started to worry. He tried to approach her, but had forgotten that he was currently holding a set of tongs that held a partially dissolved large intestine. Molly darted past him and ran to the bedroom, slamming the door in his face. Sherlock wisely decided to put the length of intestine back in a container and removed his gore spattered apron before he tried opening the bedroom door. It was locked. He went and turned off the stereo and tried knocking on the door.

"Molly?" he asked.

He was answered by the door flying open and Molly running past. He tried to grab her hand but she twisted away from him. She spun around to face him once she reached the door of the flat.

"Clean. This. Up. NOW!" she shouted. "And don't even think of coming looking for me till you do! This is ridiculous, Sherlock! I am not returning until this entire flat is sparkling and smells like a flower shop! And you had better just beg for Mrs. Hudson's forgiveness as well!" She slammed the flat door in his face and pounded down the stairs, a few hastily gathered belongings stuffed in a bag.

Her first stop was Mrs. Hudson's door. Her landlady was even more flustered after all the shouting. Molly kindly advised her to go and stay with dear Mrs. Turner for the night. Molly fled before Mrs. Hudson had finished shutting the door. Once outside, she paused for a second, weary and unsure where to go next. A low rumble of thunder could be heard. Molly started walking down the street, desperate to get away before she did something rash, like try and kill Sherlock. She considered going to Mycroft, she knew Sherlock would think twice before trying to chase her there. It was tempting, except she was a bit frightened of Mycroft. She went with her second best choice, the only other people who would understand, John Watson and his fiancée, Mary Morstan.

John had met Mary shortly after Sherlock's "death." The therapist John had been seeing had suggested that perhaps John would benefit from going to a grief support group. John thought it sounded like rubbish, but one particularly difficult day, he found himself standing outside the room where one such group was meeting. The group had already begun; a woman was talking about the loss of her hamster. John was partially hidden behind the door, listening to her sob. He didn't doubt that the pain she felt was real, but something told him that this group was not for him. He wondered if there was a group for deeply damaged veterans who had watched the agonizing downfall of their only friend. He doubted it. As he turned to leave, he nearly bumped into a woman who had been watching him.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize there was any one here," he apologized.

The woman blushed a little. Now that he was able to properly see her; John noticed she was rather attractive. "It's my fault, I was curious about what you were spying on," she said.

John laughed a bit; it felt rusty to do so, but good. "Um, well, it's a grief support group, but I don't think it's for me," he explained.

"Ah, well, I was actually looking for another group, my friends convinced me to try it, but it's silly really," she said.

"And what sort of group were you looking for?" asked John.

She blushed even more, it was charming. "Speed dating," she mumbled with downcast eyes.

John grinned. "I don't think that's really the group for you either, I have a much better idea, let's go get some coffee, I'm John Watson by the way."

"That sounds lovely, I'm Mary."

That coffee date had been the beginning of a wonderful relationship. At first, John considered it to be the one good thing that had come from the pain of his friend's death. When Sherlock turned out to be, in fact, alive, John had briefly considered moving back in with his friend. After suppressing the urge to punch him repeatedly while shouting, of course. But John had decided better to stay put, he was more interested in pursuing his new relationship. He had just moved in with Mary in early June.

Molly had been nervous about meeting Mary, she still felt guilty about getting off to a poor start with John. Fortunately, Mary was the sort of person who could make anyone feel at ease. She and Molly had become good friends. So when Molly called after storming out of Baker Street, Mary immediately insisted that Molly come to her flat.

Molly called John too as she rode over in the cab. He groaned in sympathy as she told him what Sherlock had been up to. Molly was grateful she had friends that were so understanding. That night, Molly had a pleasant meal with John and Mary. John and Molly shared Sherlock horror stories, much to Mary's amusement. She liked Sherlock, he reminded her of some of her more unusual students. Molly was a little surprised that Sherlock hadn't called or chased after her. She hoped that meant he had listened to her. After helping clean up, Molly made herself comfortable on John and Mary's couch. The thunder that had been threatening all evening was getting louder. It started to rain, and Molly was lulled to sleep by the sound of the storm.

Hours later, after the rain had stopped, Molly was awoken by the feel of something warm and lemon scented stroking her hair. Sherlock was sitting on the floor next to the couch, brushing her hair away from her face. She flopped over, facing the back of the couch. She could hear Sherlock get up and kneel, moving closer to her.

"Molly, please look at me," he begged.

"Go away," she muttered into the cushions.

"I've cleaned everything, the whole flat, all by myself I might add, please talk to me."

Molly sighed and rolled back over. "Everything? Are you sure?"

He nodded. He glanced down at his hands for a second. "I even threw away some old experiments. I'm sorry Molly."

She rubbed her eyes and sighed again. "What on earth were you doing anyway?" She wasn't sure if she really wanted to know.

"I wanted to test if various ingested poisons caused accelerated decay of the digestive system. Then I wanted to find out if the same was true of various acids. I suspect they might leave tell-tale patterns that would help in identifying poisons."

She stared at him. "You know, someone has probably done similar experiments, in proper laboratory conditions. I could help you search the medical and forensic journals."

He scoffed. "I don't have time to read someone else's drivel. Besides, I'd rather do the experiment and see the results for myself."

Molly groaned. "Well, in the future, could you please not conduct such experiments in our shared home? After looking at people's insides all day long, I'd like to come home and get away from organs."

For a moment, Sherlock was stricken. Giving up his experiments was an awful notion. But living without Molly was far worse. He slowly nodded in agreement.

Molly smiled and reached out to hug him. His hair was wet from the rain. "Thank you" she whispered as she ran her fingers through his damp curls.

"Will you come home now? Please?" he asked.

Molly yawned and stretched. "It's the middle of the night, but I guess so. How did you get into their flat anyway?"

Sherlock held up a key. "John shouted at me after I picked the lock last time. Mary gave me the key if I promised to knock first."

"You didn't knock tonight, at least I didn't hear anything," said Molly.

"I thought it might be rude to wake everyone up. Besides, I didn't think they would be engaged in the same activity they were the last time I picked the lock."

Molly sat straight up. "Oh god, what happened?" she asked.

Sherlock smirked. "John and Mary were enjoying some rather intimate activities on this very sofa."

Molly stood and swiftly dressed. "Well, I definitely didn't need to know that, all right, let me leave a note for them." She scrawled a quick note, thanking them for the loan of the sofa and explaining that she had returned home with Sherlock. The rain had stopped, clearing the air and lowering the temperature considerably.

The next morning, Molly went to Mrs. Turner's to collect Mrs. Hudson. The two ladies were sipping a late cup of coffee and gossiping. Molly assured Mrs. Hudson that Sherlock had in fact, done a remarkable job of cleaning. The whole building smelled clean and lemon fresh. She even told Mrs. Hudson that she had extracted a promise from Sherlock to stop all experiments. Molly felt a little bad about that. She knew how important his experiments could be. She just wished they weren't in the same place she prepared food.

"Mrs. Hudson, have you ever had any interest in the basement flat?" asked Molly.

"No dear, actually Sherlock's brother has been paying me to keep it vacant."

This gave Molly a brilliant idea. She ran back to 221B and found Sherlock tuning his violin.

"Sherlock, I have the best idea!"

He promptly interrupted her. "Yes, I suppose it will be better for everyone if I move my experiments to the basement flat."

She sighed, putting her hands on her hips. "You know, it ruins other people's fun when you already know what they want to tell you."

Sherlock frowned. "Yes, well, imagine how unfair it was knowing what all your birthday presents were before your fifth birthday party began."

"Oh you poor child, how you've suffered," muttered Molly.

They spent the afternoon moving various items of lab equipment to the basement flat. Molly looked over the kitchen and decided what was worth salvaging. Then they went out to find more furniture for the basement flat. Molly learned that shopping with Sherlock was never boring after they got thrown out of two furniture stores. Mycroft called shortly afterwards and ordered his brother to go home and stop harassing the shop owners of London. He offered to order furniture if Sherlock would return to Baker Street, and for once, Sherlock agreed. Molly promised to get some laboratory equipment catalogs at work for Sherlock to peruse.

That evening, worn out from a long day of work, Sherlock and Molly snuggled on the sofa. Molly was eating ice cream while Sherlock shouted at the people on talk shows. Molly studied the side of Sherlock's face. He was so intent on the television that she wondered if he had forgotten she was there. She decided to remind him by smearing ice cream on his nose. She leaned over and spread a spoonful of chocolate ice cream across his nose. He froze, turned the TV off and gave her a look.

"Molly Hooper, what on earth has gotten into you?" he asked as a drop of chocolate ran off the tip of his nose.

Molly giggled and leaned over to lick the ice cream off his face. Sherlock responded grabbing the mostly empty ice cream bowl and dipping his finger in the melted ice cream. He offered it to Molly who enthusiastically and a bit lewdly, sucked his finger clean.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "You know Molly, I am aware that some people employ whipped cream for other purposes than topping desserts." He said it completely seriously, but with a naughty twinkle in his eye.

"Well, now that the fridge is clean and experiment free, I may have just bought some chocolate sauce and whipped cream to put on my ice cream," smiled Molly.

"I would like to propose an experiment involving the application of the previously mentioned items to our own body parts. For science, of course," said Sherlock.

"Oh well, if it's for science, then who am I to say no?" replied Molly lightly.

After conducting some very thorough experiments, showering, and changing the permanently chocolate stained sheets, Molly laid down to sleep. She was completely worn out and looking forward to sleeping. Sherlock was invigorated and was plotting his first experiment in his new laboratory.

Before he left the bedroom, he asked, "Can we still engage in delightful sexual experiments in the flat? Or will we need another location for those?"

Molly yawned, "Sexy experiments okay, stinky body part experiments bad."

"Agreed."

_Sherlock and Molly's Rules_

_1. Tell each other how you feel, if you need space, ask for it._

_2. Don't use the phrases "boyfriend" or "girlfriend," too juvenile._

_3. Avoid public displays of affection and silly pet names._

_4. No shooting weapons in the flat unless lives are in danger._

_5. The skull stays on the mantel._

_6. Avoid clothing/other belongings with silly cat images._

_7. When out on a case, call or text at least once a day. If Sherlock fails to call/text, Molly can call and remind him._

_8. No sex in public places, especially the morgue._

_9. No experiments involving dead body parts/fluids in the flat._

_10. Sexy experiments are okay. _

* * *

**There may be more to this story sometime in the hazy future, should inspiration strike. Back to my own relationship rules, my husband and I have also agreed on a "no thongs" rule. The actual wording is closer to "If you want me to wear a thong, then you have to wear one too." Theoretically this could apply to either thongs - the skimpy undergarment or thongs - the woefully flimsy sandal (flip-flops.) **


End file.
